


Wrong End Of The Stick

by thescienceofsherlolly



Series: Sherlollicious [33]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I really can't write cases, John gets it wrong, Secret Relationship, Shitty Description of the World's Worst Case, but that's the John we know and despise, so very wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 02:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11796648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescienceofsherlolly/pseuds/thescienceofsherlolly
Summary: John notices a correlation between Molly's frequent dates and Sherlock's late-night solo cases.





	Wrong End Of The Stick

**Author's Note:**

> this was written incredibly quickly and is a little all over the place. the idea just wouldn't leave me. I hope you like it all the same ☻

She could hear them arguing halfway down the corridor from the comfort of her quiet morgue; rolling her eyes, Molly focused her attention on stitching up poor Mrs. Gibson - aging, wealthy adulterer and murder victim, just what the detective ordered. Apparently, said detective suspected both the spurned husband and toyboy lover of the gruesome stabbing. As far as Molly was concerned, there were no defensive wounds on the body and there were multiple deep incisions. The duo entered as she finished her work, stepping aside dutifully to allow them access to the body; neither Sherlock or John seemed to notice, still bickering like children.

“All I said,” John ranted, pacing up and down beside the morgue slab, “was I didn’t want Rosie playing with chemicals!”

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” Sherlock replied dismissively, removing his magnifying glass from the inside of his famous Belstaff, “she’s far more capable than you.”

“Sod off.”

Sherlock hid his smirk behind his magnifying glass, looking over Mrs. Gibson intently. Several theories presented themselves and, thus far, he had reason to suspect both parties of the vicious death. The loyal husband of the cheating wife, saw red and lashed out, brutally attacking his wife as she slept. Or perhaps the younger lover, easily manipulating her emotions to get into her pockets? Either way, this case couldn’t have come at a better time, if John didn’t insist on distracting him.

“So, have you got any plans later, Molly?”

“Um, yeah, actually,” the pathologist smiled shyly, gathering papers from the desk in the corner of the room, “I-I have a date.”

John couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows, “wow…isn’t this the, what, fifth in the past two weeks?”

“It’s the same bloke, if you must know.”

At least the army doctor had the decency to look guilty.

“No, I didn’t mean-“

“It’s fine. We’ve been seeing each other for a month now. It’s going…well.”

Before John could utter another word, Sherlock stood straight up and tucked away his magnifying glass into his coat, addressing Molly directly.

“I’m going to need your assistance in the lab.”

“Yeah, I have the paperwork,” Molly sighed, gesturing her clipboard as they walked towards the doors, “any ideas? I take it Anderson was on duty…”

“Yes, which reminds me…” he removed an evidence bag containing what John feared was the murder weapon, “would you mind?”

She stared at him, “you’ll return it.”

“Immediately,” he smiled, a practiced smile but it seemed to satisfy the pathologist; she took the plastic bag, rolling her eyes affectionately.

“What am I going to do with you?” The pair’s conversation drifted off as they left the morgue and John briefly wondered if he was supposed to follow them. When he’d finally made up his mind, Sherlock reappeared in a flash, “coffee, John. So kind of you.”

He disappeared before John could do much more than open his mouth.

* * *

“Right, I’m off.”

John glanced over the top of his newspaper. Sherlock was preening himself in front of the large mirror hanging over the fireplace. He was off. Again. For another night of ‘case-solving’. Interesting. He folded his paper with the air of a disapproving father.

“Is that right?”

“Case. Could go on all night,” he snatched his keys, stopping to fluff his hair once more and John bit back a smirk. Oh, he knew what was going on alright. He folded his arms, tapping his foot for good measure.

“You’re on a roll. I thought you finished that case this morning,” when Sherlock didn’t reply, John continued, “it’s funny how all your late-night cases seem to always land on Molly’s date nights,” with an eyebrow raised, John hoped he looked a little smugly intimidating. Judging by his friend’s chuckle, that was far from the case.

“it’s amazing how often murder and Molly Hooper’s love life seems to coincide-“

“Bullshit,” John stood up, facing his friend accusingly, “I know what’s going on and I’m not going to let it happen.”

There was brief look of confusion on the detective’s face which turned into amusement as John snapped a pair of handcuffs over one of his wrists, attacking the other to the detective’s chair leg, forcing the taller man to crouch down.

“You’re not ruining anymore of her dates, do you hear me?”

Sherlock blinked at his predicament, sighing as he rather awkwardly took his seat, “you’re making a mistake.”

“No! You keep doing this and it’s not fair. For God’s sake, Molly’s trying to move on and be happy. If you’re too scared to tell her how you feel, she should be allowed to. Now,” John unfolded his paper triumphantly, “I’m going to read my paper. When Molly’s finished her date, I’ll let you go.”

The army doctor could practically feel the weight of Sherlock’s stare through the paper but ignored him. Several minutes passed in silence and John was frankly amazed his brilliant plan was working. He should have done this years ago. Half an hour later, he glanced over his newspaper to find Sherlock still staring at him, a smirk on his face.

“May I have my phone?”

“So you can ruin her date by text? Summon big brother or the homeless network to tear gas me and come free you? Do you think I was born yesterday?”

“Don’t be silly,” the detective said, a pout on his face as he attempted to cross his legs,” the homeless network doesn’t have phones.”

Whether he had given in or not, it wouldn’t have mattered for Molly Hooper herself came storming into Baker Street not five minutes later. She was dressed to the nines and furious, pointing at Sherlock.

“What the hell, Sherlock? You said you made reservations and you don’t even show up?” It was then she really took in his position and anger was replaced with confusion, “why are you handcuffed to the chair?”

“That was down to me,” John said with a proud smile, once again discarding his newspaper, “I was sick of him interfering with your dates. You can thank me later…” he paused, thinking over Molly’s harsh words, “did you say he made reservations?”

“Yes, I’M Molly’s boyfriend, you insufferable idiot,” Sherlock snapped, waving his shackled wrist as best as he could. He smiled apologetically at Molly; neither of them had expected their relationship to have been discovered this way, least of all by their hapless friend.

John blinked at the pair, his mouth open wide as he tried to take in the shocking development.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sherlock sighed, his wickedly honest tongue in full form, “I expected you had enough of a brain to work out the connection. Perhaps I give you too much credit.”

Molly could tell he had gone too far. Without a word, John marched to the open window and threw the handcuff key as hard as he could manage. In the next instant, he had turned and stomped towards his bedroom, muttering expletives on his way. Molly eyed her boyfriend, shaking her head.

“You just had to open that pretty mouth of yours.”


End file.
